


Fly Above the Rain

by Anonymous



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier Needs a Hug, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Cherik and Their Horde of Kids, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Gratuitous Split (2016) References, Neurodivergent David Haller, Neurodiversity, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 15:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Charles, ever the absent-minded professor, is running late picking up his son from the therapist's. David, however, doesn't really see any downsides to the situation - after all, he'sverygood at making friends, and that white-haired man in the corner might just be his next conquest!
Relationships: David Haller & Charles Xavier, David Haller & Erik Lehnsherr
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11
Collections: X-Men Rare Pairs 2021





	Fly Above the Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hllfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hllfire/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [hllfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hllfire/pseuds/hllfire) in the [xmenrarepairs21](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmenrarepairs21) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Charles is a single dad taking care of his son and figuring out how to not completely traumatize a child considering he didn't have good parents himself.
> 
> Bonus points for disabled Charles. +Bonus points for neurodivergent David (if not DID, maybe ADHD and/or autistic David!)
> 
> Title from Supertramp's [Sister Moonshine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=Qas_ZealmK4) which gives me major Charles & David vibes (is it the "Won't you send me a little sun?" line that does all the magic? maybe so 👀).  
> I guess I went more for ADHD with this David than for autism, but then again no neurodivergent person's symptoms ever comply exactly with textbook standards? I just hope you enjoy, dear prompter (:

Charles was running late. _Again_.

Cursing, he swerved through the dense traffic of New York’s inner-city streets, cutting off people where he could, honking where he found his way blocked. Maybe the fact that he was disabled would get him to be let off easily from a ticket? Not very likely, but he’d take the risk.

David was more important than any fine or loss of face, as far as Charles was concerned.

Finally, the concrete-and-glass building housing Dr MacTaggert’s office loomed up in the distance, and Charles let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. His palm was all sweaty – _gross_ , shot through his head – when he took it off the steering wheel to card his fingers through his hair. He only succeeded in making the mess on his head look worse than it had before. With the collar of his dress shirt already undone and his tie hanging about his neck like a very demotivated, very lazy snake, he almost didn’t dare shoot a glance towards the rear-view mirror.

In fact, if someone had looked up the concept of “absent-minded professor” in a dictionary at that very moment, they probably could have found a picture of Charles Francis Xavier, PhD in Genetics and Psychology, slapped onto the page right under the definition.

When Charles approached the building amid the sluggish stream of cars and motorcycles, he groaned. All parking spaces in front of the towering concrete block save for one had been taken, and he would now be obliged to side-park awkwardly, circling to and fro at least half a dozen times until he’d finally catch the right angle. Angry honking and shouting were sure to ensue.

True to Charles’ prediction, they did.

His head felt like it was on fire by the time he could finally turn off his engine and twist around in his seat to get his foldable wheelchair out from behind the passenger seat – the universe probably could have turned off the sun, and Earth still would have been brightly illuminated by Charles’ beet-red, glowing blush.

Damn him. Damn his damned broken wristwatch, his damned head in the clouds, his damned inability to keep track of time.

By the time he’d finally transferred out of the car and into his wheelchair, locked the doors with a press of his thumb on the keys and started for the entrance to the building, he felt like crying. And not just a few pretty, manly tears. No, a full-on breakdown was in order, with ugly sobbing and a red, swollen nose and possibly a few glasses of liquor.

But he couldn’t. He _couldn’t_. What would David think of him? What would he think of his father being a drunkard who couldn’t keep himself in check and his life in order?

Well, he probably couldn’t think much worse of Charles than he already did now, having been left to wait for pick-up in Moira MacTaggert’s anteroom for over half an hour.

Charles got into the lift, ignoring the dirty glances of two businessmen who’d have to wait for the next because he was taking up too much space with his chair for them to squeeze in after him. Then, when the elevator started to move and began to steadily tick down the numbers of the floors, he bonked his head back against the wall behind him and let out one long, defeated groan.

The woman to his left looked down at him and gave a pained, knowing smile. Charles nodded back in tired solidarity.

His head was pounding, and his felt like a drill was being put to it, what with the constant background static of New York’s chattering, smattering, roiling thoughts – but that was of little importance now. Closing his eyes, Charles raised a finger, massaging his temple until the worst of the pain subsided, and then reached out.

Floors filled with people flickered by in a fraction of a second, lives brimming with emotion. Before he could slow down, however, Charles had barrelled through the little crowd gathered in Dr MacTaggert’s waiting room and flung himself straight into the one bright, burning mind whose presence he had been craving all day long.

 _David_.

_Dad was running late._ Again.

_David furrowed his brows and stared intently up at the clock hanging on the wall of Dr MacTaggert’s waiting room. He’d been willing time to move slower for the last fifteen dashes on the clockface now, so maybe his father would actually rush in only a minute late maybe, or five – and not fifteen. But all in vain._

_His feet dangling a few inches off the floor, David started to pick at one of the seams that held the leather of the chair’s armrests together while he ran his other hand up and down, up and down, up and down his rough, rumpled jeans. It was a sensation he liked – it calmed him down. Dad had almost forgot to put up the laundry last weekend, and only when David had complained about having ran out of underpants had he started to wheel around hectically, gathering dirty clothes all over and then bringing them to the cleaning service down the street._

_It wasn’t that Dad didn’t know how to adult. He was just very, very bad at it._

_Sometimes, David thought it’d be cool to have- no. Not another Dad. No, he’d very much want to keep_ his _Dad. But maybe Dad could be more like the people on TV, if he already wasn’t so good at adulting. He could at least be good at shooting guns, or fighting with big-ass swords, or going to space. He’d still have to like Earl Grey over anything in the whole world though, and still wear his soft cardigans David liked to snuggle into when the floor was cold and he sought shelter on Dad’s lap. He’d still have to be Dad, with his soft mindvoice and his lips warm against David’s forehead when he kissed him goodnight and his tired smile in the morning when he saw that David had once again burned traces of his fingertips into the pillow – he’d just have to be a little_ more _Dad._

 _Or maybe David just missed Mama. She’d never forget that he sometimes needed to listen to rain noises before bed so he’d calm down, or the soundtrack from_ Trance _. Sometimes, she even reminded Dad of that over the phone when she finally had time free from travelling around Israel._

_But it never stuck._

_There was a man sat in the chair across from David. He had one of his feet flat on the floor, and the other ankle he’d crossed nonchalantly over his knee as he leafed distractedly through a fashion magazine. David thought that Dad would probably find him very handsome, with his shined leather shoes and his unrumpled black turtleneck and his white shock of hair combed neatly behind his ears._

_Just like David, he was tapping impatiently against the armrest of his chair, one finger at a time, one after the other. Again and again, something like a disturbance rippled out from him, and David wasn’t quite sure if it was his telepathy or his telekinesis picking it up, but it_ was _there._

_Just like David – and just like Dad – the man was a mutant._

_David’s eyes snapped back to the clock on the wall across from him. He’d completely forgot about the time! And now the hands had moved again, and his Dad was not fifteen, but_ twenty _minutes late._

_The man with the white hair flipped another page and sighed, his consciousness – his mutation, and now David was certain that the man was a telekinetic of sorts – expanding towards the parlour where Doctor MacTaggert was speaking to the patient who had their appointment after David._

_David stopped rubbing his palm over his jeans because it was starting to burn. Then, his mind made up, he hopped down from his seat and sauntered over to plant himself in front of the man, his fists propped up on his hips._

_It took a moment for the man to notice him, but when he did, he lifted his head with a start and stared at David. The magazine in his hands rustled as a tremor went through his hands._

_Finally, after he’d studied David from head to toe, his lips pulled back into a hesitant smile._ “Hello there.”

“Hi.” _David smiled back, far broader and brighter than the man._ “I’m David. I like movies!”

 _The man cocked an eyebrow._ “You do? What kind of movies?”

 _David scrunched up his nose. The man’s thoughts were seeping through to him, painted in light shades of pastels as he expected him to talk about movies like_ Sleeping Beauty _or_ Treasure Planet _. He did like those, but he liked others more._

“No,” _he protested,_ “I like real-people movies! Dad even lets me watch those for 16-year-olds – I’m only nine – but he says I’m not allowed to tell my teachers, or Dr MacTaggert, or stranger’s parents!”

 _The man uncrossed his legs and put both his feet flat on the floor, unadulterated interest tinged warmly with amusement pouring off him._ “Oh? And why do you think I’m here?”

 _David frowned._ “You’re here to see Dr MacTaggert?”

 _His smile widening into a grin – wow, the man had a_ lot _of teeth – David’s new friend cocked his head._ “Are you sure I’m not here because I’m a parent waiting for one of Dr MacTaggerts patients?”

 _David frowned some more, scrunching up his nose in that way he knew his Dad found adorable. Then, he gasped._ “Oh no! You’re a stranger’s parent!”

 _Chuckling, the man shut his magazine and put it back onto the pile from which he must’ve taken it._ “Indeed I am. But don’t worry – I won’t tell your father that you told _me_ that he lets you watch movies not meant for your age. In fact, what’s your favourite real-people movie?”

_David glanced up at him, feeling after the stranger’s thoughts – he meant what he said._

“I think my favourite is _Split_ ,” _he finally allowed himself to muse, still watching the man’s mind closely to see when he said something wrong. There was an initial ripple of surprise, but it soon settled back into uniform interest._ “I just think Casey’s real cool!”

“You do?” _When the man smiled, the dark skin in the corners of his eyes crinkled up in the funniest way, David noticed. Also, his voice was really nice – like wet seaside sand under naked feet!_ “Do you want to tell me why you like her so much?”

 _David didn’t even take time to stop and think. Instead, he gave in to the excitement bubbling up inside him like soup on the stove (soup on the stove had a tendency to brim over in their home when Dad was once again not paying attention) – he jumped up and down, flapping his hands in front of his chest until he didn’t feel like he’d explode from joy._ “Yes! Yes, please, sir, I wanna tell you everything!”

 _The man’s grin persisted._ “Then go ahead, David.”

 _David nodded enthusiastically before he decided that staying on the ground would be unacceptable if he was to tell this nice man_ everything _about_ Split _. Grabbing the armrest of the chair the man was sitting in with one hand and propping himself up on his knee with the other, he climbed into the man’s lap._

_Only too late did he remember his Dad’s advice to ask before he did something like that, but it had already happened now, anyway. Still, he glanced up searchingly at the man’s face._

_The stranger’s mouth was making a funny little O-shape, all surprise and startled joy, but he didn’t protest as David smiled up at him. Then, he leaned his head against the man’s shoulder and gently ran his hand over the soft, woolly fabric of his turtleneck._

“You smell really nice, sir,” _he remarked, but before the man could do more than think a surprised_ Why thank you _, he continued,_ “One day, I want to have a girlfriend like Casey. Or a boyfriend! They just gotta be as cool and smart as her. Oh, and did you know that the guy who played the Joker really badly in _Suicide Squad_ was supposed to play Kevin Wendel Crumb before they changed it up?”

“No, I didn’t know that.” _Genuine happiness was starting to crack through the man’s otherwise so composed mindscape, and his hand was very gentle when it landed on David’s arm and held him there._ “But I’m glad you can teach me about it. And I’m sure you know more.”

“I know _everything_ about _Split_ ,” _David said, not without pride. And the best thing was – the man believed him!_ “And I’ll tell you _everything_ about it!”

_And so, when the stranger still made not even an attempt at protesting, he went ahead and did it._

Oh dear.

Charles gripped the push rims of his wheelchair so tightly his knuckles whitened, and willed the elevator to go faster. Please please please, seen from David’s perspective the man had seemed friendly enough – not exactly like someone who lured small children into the trunk of his car and then kept them in the basement – but oh gosh, the embarrassment. The shame of not only being late to pick up your kid, but also having to deal with the fact that _said kid_ had just gone and climbed onto a complete stranger’s lap unasked.

Also, David was right – the stranger was _exactly_ the kind of man Charles would find handsome.

And here he was, wheeling out of an elevator with his palms so slippery from sweat they almost couldn’t get a grasp on his chair’s push rims, his dress shirt mussed beyond recognition and his eyes underlined by dark bags speaking of more late evenings than any man should possibly be able to endure.

Well, if that wasn’t terribly Charles Francis Xavier of him.

Finally – bloody _finally_ – he reached the door to Moira’s office and pushed down the door handle, relief flooding him at the familiar tingle of the bell announcing his arrival.

Miss Frost, Dr MacTaggert’s assistant, looked up at him from where she was sorting paperwork behind the counter. One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows twitched upwards.

“Mr Xavier. You’re late.”

“Yes, I know.” Charles smiled with closed lips, very much trying not to scream. Miss Frost – a telepath just like him – probably heard it anyway. “He’s in the waiting room, yes?”

He got a nod and a cool sense of detachment from her before she buried her nose back in her papers. Sighing, he muttered a quiet “Thank you” that went unheard and manoeuvred to the open doorway at the end of the hall.

When he crossed the sill, both his mind and his eyes zeroed in immediately on the chair in the corner, on which David was still excitedly rambling to the man with the white hair and the immaculate clothing. The stranger had his phone out, idly letting David show him pictures of Kevin Wendell Crumb’s split personalities.

“… and Patricia is my favourite – she’s so cool, I wanna be like her one day!” David was saying, excitedly tapping on the screen. “Dad looks a lot like her when he’s pretending to be serious-”

His flow of words broke off abruptly, and his head snapped upwards, his heterochromatic eyes sparking bright blue respectively dark green when he caught sight of Charles. “Dad!”

The man moved away his phone just in time before David could accidentally catch at it as he jumped from his lap and bounded across the room to Charles. Smiling, Charles spread his arms for a hug and let out a muffled “Oof” as David threw himself at him with full force, flinging his arms around Charles’ neck and burying his head at his father’s shoulder.

“Hello, darling,” Charles murmured into his son’s hair which was sticking up unruly as ever and tickled him under the nose, hugging his son’s small, gangly body close. “I’m so sorry I’m late, David, so sorry.”

“That’s fine, Dad, you’re here now.” David’s breath tickled the sensitive skin just above Charles’ collar, and Charles’ darling boy snuggled more deeply into Charles’ arms, just a fraction of a second, before he pulled back and pointed at the white-haired man smirking in the chair across from them. “But that nice man kept me company! My Dad _does_ look like the actor who played Kevin Wendell Crumb, doesn’t he?”

The last part was very obviously addressed to the stranger, accompanied by David accidentally poking Charles’ cheek as he flailed his arms in overwhelming excitement. Charles had grab him around the waist so he wouldn’t slide right off his lap onto the floor.

The man huffed out a laugh and smiled – and by Jove, if that wasn’t the _prettiest_ smile Charles had ever seen. “You’re right, he does. But his eyes are bluer than Mr Crumb’s – and he still has his hair.”

“Yes, but if he would dress up like Miss Patricia, he would look _just_ like her.” Pouting, David sent Charles a withering look like it was a crime against humanity not to cross-dress as a homicidal split personality. “But he says he doesn’t want to, because he thinks red isn’t his colour. Anyway, it’s weird that men never want to dress up like women!”

“They don’t?” The man raised both his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “Well, then I have something for you.”

And with a few quick strokes of his thumb, he pulled up a photograph on his phone and turned the screen so both David and Charles could see it.

Charles, who had been wheeling closer to where the stranger was sitting, stopped dead in his tracks. David squealed with delight.

The man grinned. “Do you think red is _my_ colour?”

Charles’ breath caught in his throat. Oh, it very much _was_.

On the photograph, the man was wearing neither turtleneck nor neatly ironed flannel trousers. Instead, a sparkling blue dress hugged his impossibly slim waist, and he had one of his thumbs hooked into the black fishnet of his stockings as he smiled into the camera. His bright red wig fanned out around his head like a fiery halo, framing a smile Charles would’ve liked to bottle up and keep in his bedside drawer for lonely nights.

In Charles’ lap, David was doing a little excited dance, flapping his hands in front of his chest and smiling so widely his face almost split in half.

Worried that David’s stimming would come up against an unaccepting mindset, Charles glanced up at the white-haired man – and found himself as scrutinisingly watched as he had intended to do himself, even as the stranger smiled fondly at David’s show of excitement.

He mirrored the smile in what he hoped was just the right mixture of guilt, embarrassment, and politeness. Then, he reached out.

_I hope I’m not intruding, but I should probably present myself. Hello, I’m Charles Xavier – David’s father._

The man’s expression shuttered closed for a moment, but he did not attempt to push Charles out of his mind. _I figured as much. Pleased to meet you, Mr Xavier. My name is Erik Lehnsherr, and I’m currently waiting for my daughter to finish her session with Dr MacTaggert so I can pick her up afterwards._ He sent a telling look at David now rambling on about his day in Charles’ lap. _Unlike some other parents._

Charles bit his lip to keep from hurling expletives. After all, the man was right – he deserved some chiding.

_You’ve been keeping David company, I see?_

_Yes, he just climbed into my lap. But that’s okay._

Judging from the man’s agreeable rose-coloured thoughts, it was apparently more than okay. Charles once again thanked whatever deity there was up there for not only giving David ADHD, but also making him cute beyond compare.

Still, he rushed to apologise. _Oh, I’m so very sorry. Really, I’m-_

“Dad?” David interrupted, scrunching up his nose in the way that always made Charles tear up a little inside from all the love. “Are you having a mindspeak conversation with Mr Lehnsherr? That’s impolite!”

“Um- Yes, darling, yes, it is.” But even as he said it, he turned back to the sleek composedness of Mr Lehnsherr’s mind and said, _I’m just trying not to traumatise my kid, you know?_

_Likewise._

Charles couldn’t stop his surprise from showing on his face. Mr Lehnsherr – so aloof, so composed, so good with children, from what Charles had been able to gather in just a few minutes – afraid to traumatise his child?

But before he could say something on the matter – or thank Mr Lehnsherr once again for being there for David when he had been unable to, the sheer _shame_ – the door to Moira’s parlour opened and a teenage girl stepped out, waving one last time to the woman inside before she turned around and smiled at Mr Lehnsherr.

Mr Lehnsherr immediately pocketed his phone and got up, walking over to pull the girl – his daughter – into his arms and press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Anya, mein Schatz. How did it go today?” he asked, his smile softening as he looked down at her.

His daughter raised her head to smile up at him, and Charles winced as he saw scar tissue from what had to have been a severe burn winding its way up from under her shirt collar, all the way up her neck and over her cheek.

“Good, Papa,” she said, her voice ringing out clear and loud. “We talked a lot about… who I want to be. Did you already pick up the twins?”

“They’re taking the metro today,” Mr Lehnsherr replied quietly, laying an arm around her shoulders as he began to guide her towards the door. A wave of genuine, all-encompassing love poured off him, tasting of summer rain and freshly washed blankets and the weight of his children’s hands in his, snatching Charles’ breath as it passed.

And yet, the feeling was not unfamiliar to him.

Nodding a silent understanding to Mr Lehnsherr, he pulled David closer to his chest and bussed a kiss onto the crown of his son’s head before he gripped his push rims and followed the white-haired man and his daughter out through the door.

The elevator ride passed in relative silence. Mr Lehnsherr’s daughter – Anya – had pulled out her phone and was scrolling through notifications, while David had quieted down and was starting to doze off against Charles’ shoulder. His small hand was fisted tightly into the soft, blue wool of Charles’ cardigan, and he protested weakly as Charles gently ruffled his hair, which stuck straight up, as unruly as ever as it refused to be styled into a more normal hairstyle.

The lift arrived on the ground floor, the doors slid open, and Mr Lehnsherr let Charles go first, following him through the lobby with his daughter. Only when they had passed the doors and were about to go their separate ways to their cars did Mr Lehnsherr call out after them.

“David? Do you usually visit Dr MacTaggert on this day of the week, around this time?”

By her father’s side, Anya glanced up from her phone and cocked an eyebrow at him.

Charles turned to the side slightly so David could reply to his interlocutor without having to talk over Charles’ shoulder. He read no malicious intent from Mr Lehnsherr, trusting the man knew what he was doing.

“Yes, sir,” David said, alert once again despite his tiredness. “Why d’you ask?”

Mr Lehnsherr smiled. “I just liked keeping you company today. Who knows, maybe we’ll see each other again next week – if your Dad doesn’t mind, that is.”

Charles’ eyebrows shot up in surprise before he could stop himself.

“Why, I- I don’t mind at all,” he spluttered, feeling more and more like this whole situation was decidedly slipping from his control. “That is, if I run late again. Which I will very much try to avoid, just so you know.”

“Sometimes, things just don’t go as planned,” Mr Lehnsherr conceded, a world of understanding in the amiable look he gave Charles. Apparently, he had been forgiven for now. “Until next week then – maybe.”

“Maybe,” muttered Charles, but his words were drowned out by David waving enthusiastically and saying, “Goodbye! Goodbye, sir, it was so nice meeting you!”

Mr Lehnsherr gave one last grin, then took Anya by the shoulder again and turned her around, laughing at her when she said something Charles didn’t catch. Strolling down the sidewalk, they looked like a very fine, very normal father-daughter pair.

Charles smiled quietly to himself as he transferred into the driver’s seat and praised David when the boy helped him fold up his wheelchair, carefully handling it with his still budding telekinesis like Jean Grey, his instructor at school, had shown him. Then, he leaned over and helped David fasten his seatbelt before he turned the key in the ignition and pulled out onto the busy road.

And as Charles drove so – as David hummed distractedly in the passenger seat and pressed his nose flat against the window and made the radio channels switch so fast between songs that it made Charles’ head spin – he thought that maybe, they didn’t look like such a bad father-son pair themselves.

“David,” he said quietly when he had to stop at a red light, “I’m sorry I was late today. I love you very much – do you know that?”

There was the rasping of denim against the fabric of the passenger seat covering, and the squeaking of little child palms against the class of a car window. Then, David projected what he was feeling.

It was not the cleanest projection, and certainly not the most clear-cut, but it made tears spring to Charles’ eyes, anyway. The light turned green, and he had to wipe at his face with the back of his hand before he could drive on.

His darling boy loved him still – would _always_ love him – and had forgiven him already. Maybe, as he grew older, forgiveness wouldn’t come so easily anymore. But Charles would work for it.

David was dearer to him than anything in the world. _Anything_. And he would do his best to remind his son of that fact, every day for the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> *shakes tin can* Spare a comint, dear sir?? 
> 
> Oh yes, and a little note to the prompter: Originally a fourth smol scene, set about ten years after this one, was planned in my outlining. It would be David bringing his girlfriend (Ruth Aldine, I know for a fact that _you_ know her) home to meet his parents (Cherik!) and siblings (Cherik kiddos!) for the first time. I took it out because this piece was already getting too long, but Iet me know if you still want that scene and I'll write it (some day)!


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